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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25824835">Myriad Gifts</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErrantNight/pseuds/ErrantNight'>ErrantNight</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dragons and Daedra [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Masturbation, Minor Original Character(s), midas touch: but it's sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 12:09:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,585</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25824835</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErrantNight/pseuds/ErrantNight</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Threnod wakes up to find some new gifts, material and otherwise, and does a little self exploration before going back to Whiterun</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Sanguine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dragons and Daedra [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1873642</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Myriad Gifts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Seeking Beta for series</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There’s a gift waiting for Threnod when she wakes up, more than one in fact but only one that’s terribly important. A red rose, or a facsimile of one, resting atop folded crimson and violet cloth. She’s in a cave, not… really the one she’d been in. It was shaped the same but it was cold and damp and the sky she can see through the hole in the ceiling is it’s usual black with the faintest edge of the blue-green ribbon she’s familiar with. </p><p>The rugs and furs under her are old, falling apart, the design rubbed away by age and water.</p><p>She’s cold and completely bare and when she sits up she hurts everywhere, except… a particularly deep ache low in her belly and between her legs. She feels her face flame with heat, then the sensation of cold overrides it and she wraps her arms around herself and shivers. </p><p>She has to move the Rose to get at the cloth but something about it sends a thrill of anxiety through her stomach but she delicately picks it up anyway and sets it aside. It hums faintly against her palm as she touches it, but nothing malicious happens and she gives a rough chuckle and feels like a child for being afraid. The cloth is fresh clothing, so much nicer than what she’d been wearing under her armor for so long it was worn thin and it had never fit her right. They’d belonged to Ralof’s sister and she’d been much taller and curvier. But she’d been thankful for the clothes, for anything really, at the time.</p><p>The tunic is dark red with bands of violet around the cuffs of the sleeves and along the bottom hem, the breeches reversed in violet banded with red. She clutches the soft cloth against her chest and her breath hitches as she tilts her head back to keep the tears in her eyes from falling. She stares up through the hole into the sky and for a blink it was a red sky with purple and gold bands of light spinning and twisting. She blinks again, two tears leaking out and soaking into her hair before she stubbornly pulls the shirt over her head.</p><p> Something falls out of its folds and she picks it up, turning the thing over in her hand and biting her lips. It looks like real honest to gods cloth of gold with jeweled chains holding it together. When she realizes what it was she drops it numbly into her lap and has to catch her breath. It’s a loin cloth, a shining gold loincloth that fastened with jeweled chains.</p><p>“No, no no,” she whispers, raising her arms to search for the golden shackles and chains, finding her wrists bare of any such thing.</p><p> But reaching up she feels a thick band of metal, very real and hot to the touch. </p><p>“My precious champion,” the voice, His voice, her Lord’s voice, echoes in her head, “I’ll take care of you. All you have to do is be a good obedient pet and do as your told.”</p><p>She swears she can feel his hand in her hair, on her skin, his breath on her ear.</p><p>“And the first thing you are going to do for your master is go,” he’d paused for effect, “have some fun.”</p><p>He’d said he was appalled at the lack of amusement in her life, the bitterness that had filled her chest and choked her for so long that she couldn’t remember feeling anything else. </p><p>Before he’d gone he’d wrapped her hands around the rose, his Rose he’d said would protect her if she was in danger - would summon another of his servants to her aid - and the thorns had bitten into her hands and he’d run his tongue across the wounds…</p><p>She shudders and sighs, blanking out for a moment and coming back to herself splayed out on the half rotted bedding with one hand beneath the soft crimson shirt and the other working desperately between her legs. Her voice echoes back from the cave walls as she comes, breathing raggedly in the silence as her legs twitch and her hips rock against the palm of her hand. She finds a smile spreading over her face, and she can’t remember how long it’s been since she’d grinned like this. It hurts her cheeks, feels like the corners of her lips might crack with the force of it. </p><p>She lays back, strokes her slick fingers across His collar, gasps, and comes again screaming his name.</p><p>It takes some time to finish dressing. Her skin is hot and sensitive, sliding the cloth of gold between her legs and fastening the loin cloth in place is distracting enough that she finds herself on her knees sobbing in pleasure and soaking through it in moments. Somehow she manages to get the breeches on but finds they lace from back to front. It’s so frustrating that she takes a break and kneels, pulls aside the cloth between her legs and slides her fingers into her wet cunny almost idly as she tries to remember what she was supposed to be doing. Going somewhere, she remembers that, some frivolous task someone had asked of her and she’d been too lost and directionless to refuse. </p><p>It must not matter so much, so she puts it out of her mind and focuses on her fingers sliding oh so slowly in and out, moving up and gently stroking the point of sensitive flesh that brought her so much pleasure and how could she have never noticed it before? At the moment it seems like the most important thing in her entire existence but she makes her hand still - as he’d done so many times that night, stopping her just before she reached the peak and making her be still before he started again. </p><p>She waits, trembling, begins again from the beginning with one finger and then two and then barely holding herself up  as she moans and ruts against her own hand and lets herself go. She doesn’t remember beginning to lick her fingers clean but she’s done it before she thinks about it and somehow manages to get her breeches on and then her armor and then her weapons and did her chain mail always rub so against her nipples and make them painful tight peaks beneath her shirt and leaving her leaning against the wall to catch her breath.</p><p>Somehow she has to get somewhere, she isn’t sure where, but she can’t stay here forever and she has to learn how to walk and move and fight and not get distracted by her own body awakened to the joy of sensation and…. She shakes herself, breathing raggedly and makes her way out of the little cave.</p><p>She stands just outside and tries to get her bearings and finds she’s standing beside a small cairn of stones so close to Whiterun she could be there in ten minutes walk. She pins around, finding only brown grass and stacked and tumbled stones, but no cave.</p><p>Whiterun was closest so she ambled her way there, stumbling from time to time as she got ‘distracted’ by her own body and forcing herself to stop trying to remove the armor and clothing she’d spent so much time putting on. Not to mention this was definitely not the place to strip herself naked and nestle down in the grass between those two rocks and touch herself. She groans, running her hands down her face. She stops, feeling the collar stark and bright around her neck and she can’t let anyone see it. </p><p>She falls to her knees, fighting hard against the warm blank lassitude that beckons at the memory of being on her knees and taking His cock into her throat and… She digs into her bag, finding the old ragged shirt and her eating knife and cuts it into a rough length and ties it around her neck and tucks the rough ends down the front of her chain mail. She strokes the petals of the Rose in her bag, somehow both hard and cold and hot and yielding at the same time. </p><p>Forces herself to tuck it away and get through the gates with only a little ribbing from the guards, Bjorn and Hack, as she knows she smells of mead and her hair is loose and disheveled. She never did find her hair pins. She sways slightly and Hack asks if she needs help getting up to the Mare and he looks so sincere and then startled when she smiles at him - she never smiles, everyone knows that, and she reaches up to pat him on the cheek and assures him she’s fine and takes only twice the time it usually takes to get the tavern, pay for a room, and fall into the bed suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion and falls asleep atop the covers with her armor on.</p><p>Hack, when his shift is up, surprises his wife in bed and they spend the rest of the morning there. He never mentions the smell of the weary adventurer, that the gentle touch of the ever-grim Dragonborn of all people, had made him harder than he’d ever been in his life. That he’d been uncomfortable, chafing, for hours until he could bury himself in his soft beautiful Lisle but with his head full of the smell of mead and the rough touch of a callused hand on his cheek.</p>
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